It isn't cold Unbutton
by MAR2811
Summary: Ooh Daniel San, he could probably use some help with this, cause he won't give up, that's for sure. Even if he finds ups and downs, tunnels and mountains to cross; or if he has to use cars, boats, planes and motorcycles... he'll destroy the real and awful kryptonite.
1. Chapter 1 cold

First, neither do I own profound knowledge of the English language, cause it's not my first language (and so I apologise for any mistake), nor do I own NCIS LA or its characters.

Second, I'm truly grateful for the kind words of the reviewers of my first stories. ;) Thaaaank you. Speaking of which, there's a small part of this story that follows the events of «Unbelievable», so if you haven´t read it, please note that Kensi and Deeks were able to say goodbye when she was reassigned.

Thirdly... third... please enjoy (if I didn't ruin it) "_**It isn't cold. Unbutton. - Chapter one: cold.**_"

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It isn't cold. Unbutton.

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_**Chapter one: cold **_Chapter two: warm Chapter three: hot

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It's a cold day. Not usually do they have cold days there, but this is surely one.

However, this is not _just_ a cold day – something had been annoyingly different with that morning and something's nauseatingly odd with that afternoon. To sum up, it seems to be an awful day. They've been stuck with this same mission for several weeks, making surveillance to a pair of big Castenian guys… ugly, smelly, boring… gosh, this is an ever ending operation. And his partner – the temp… well, this guy does make an effort, he tries a lot, he even tries too much, cause he' s getting on his nerves… But, he's the new guy, and he seems damn good, and even funny (sometimes), and Deeks can be sorry for him because he's the one taking all the crap from Sam and Callen now… well, most of the time. So, Deeks can't avoid trying to help him, giving him advice, trying to make him feel wanted, trying to make him feel like he belonged there, with them (just not quite in the exact place he's been occupying). It's his nature. But this new guy is not.. mmmh, well, he lacks something, something isn't right about him. But then, something isn't right about everything. Something isn't right about waking up or sleeping, something isn't right about working or surfing, something isn't definitely right about watching TV or eating (especially ice cream).

They are stuck in the car, making surveillance on a very busy street. The static on the radio starts to be a little disturbing. This idea of trying to listen and not being able to or trying to understand and having a hard time doing so begins to freak him out. Also, the idea of trying to speak and not being capable of is almost disgusting. And the amount of people going in and out the stores… some walking slowly, some walking fast – running, some enjoying the season, the choosing, the options, some suffering with the indecision, some expecting the surprises with a positive sense of wonder, some walking as if they were running out of time to live, some enjoying the view and all the little bits and pieces of the walking around the streets – well, everything is completely distressing… wrong.

Apart from this feeling… this deep (nauseating) feeling… of nothing being ever right, he has this conviction that he'd become incapable of partaking emotions. So, he is just observing; he's just observing and waking up and surfing and working and eating and not really watching TV. He's been behaving as if he's a robot… better yet, as if his life is on standby.

And maybe it is. With the mind-boggling news of Kensi's puzzling departure, he lost his ground. And even if he's not entirely sure he can stand tall as before, the truth is that after their goodbye, though heartbreaking, he'd felt a little better – for a while – but then, he realized that her best intentions (coming back, kicking asses if needed, but coming back) and his deepest certainties (being patient, waiting, never leaving) could make them believe in their unbelievable happy end, but would mean nothing at concealing his worries, his pain and even – despite his (new-found) family – his loneliness.

And it's Christmas Eve.

It's Christmas Eve and she isn't around. And he had planned. Oh! He had planned every year, since so many years ago, this year's Christmas. He had planned a Christmas with her – _the one_, since ever, picturing the beginning of his family and the ending of his solitude, the beginning of his belonging and the ending of his exclusion. And the bliss… the bliss he had pictured for a day like this would even hurt. It would hurt physically because his heart wouldn't be able of sustaining such deep emotions, it would hurt physically because the fear of losing it would be revolting. He had imagined all the happiness in the world, the kind that pains to feel.

But not yet. Not this Christmas.

Yep. 24th of December and they are working, even Sam's working – something Deeks thinks is unforgivable. But maybe something will change and Hetty will send them home, cause these guys are doing nothing and maybe they too want to celebrate Christmas (though Deeks isn't quite sure if Christmas is a thing back there, in Castia). However – and cause he's used to that – he should've known that people have all these plans to get somewhere in their own lives, crossing a right, shinning, peaceful line, but then, the universe gets in charge and that line isn't direct anymore. You'll then have ups and downs, tunnels and mountains to cross; you may even have to use cars, boats, planes and motorcycles (_he remembers_). Well, he would probably have to use a rocket ship, just to have the Christmas he once planned. And so, these Castenian guys just forget about Christmas and decide to try an escape with their box.

Phhhh… they have a box.

They have a box and Deeks, Sam or Callen don't know what's in there – and of course the new guy don't know it either, nor does he know that there is a different box – somewhere, waiting for the day.

Deeks doesn't have to try and guess what's in that box (the mission box, of course) and for that he's grateful. He has his own box to figure out and he can't even begin to think about opening it and dealing with the consequences. At least, not today. Not this day, a day that's been giving him the impression, from the first early hours, that something is excruciatingly odd – even more than usual. Not this day, this day in which Nell thought – kindly – that it was a good idea to nurture him, and please him, and surprise him, giving him something she knew Kens had planned to give him on Christmas day (or at least, it was one of the ideas she shared with Nell, desperately fishing for advice, judging by the words of the young intelligence analyst). And so, when he got to the bullpen, in the morning, she gave him a bonsai.

He thought he had done enough. He thought they had agreed – she had finally agreed – that they could figure them out, that all they needed to do was talk about it. And then she chooses a bonsai. He thought that they already had a long journey; with ups and downs, tunnels and mountains to cross; using cars, boats, planes, motorcycles and even rocket ships. And she chooses a bonsai. He knew he wanted her. He knew he wanted to fight – run to catch her, talk (even rumble) to assure her everything would be fine. And her option is a bonsai. He knew he would wait, he wouldn't ever leave. He thought he took care of their relationship and she picks this up. A bonsai is way too sensitive and fragile, it must be handled with care, extreme care, it doesn't handle well the cold weather, it needs all the protection, it needs special attention and he thinks… he thinks his heart needs all that too. Has always needed. But maybe now _he_ is weaker. Maybe his heart – which he forced to be tough and strong all his life, is now weaker, is now finally showing its weakness. Maybe it's weaker right now, because of her. Her. But then he breathes in and remembers her perfect eyes, her smell, her heat, her flavor and her smile… everything, and he recognizes that all his exhaustion and frustration are gone. And suddenly he's strong again. He knows how fragile a Bonsai can be, and he even knows – and that was really the real reason of his initial frustration – that he already was the hopeful possessor of one fine specimen of a tiny tree called bonsai. The problem is he wasn't able to handle it at the time, and did let it die. But not this time.

Ooh Daniel San, he could probably use some help with this, cause he won't give up, that's for sure. He certainly will deeply breathe in and out and google everything he needs to know about this plant. He'll surely buy each and every item needed to care for the tree. He'll even look for a "Bonsai vet" or a "Bonsai hospital" in advance, just in case. This Bonsai will live forever.

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She wasn't expecting it to be so cold. But it was. Or maybe the chills she was having were due to her fever – a before small fever, that was now a cause of concern for her … well, for the group of people who shared a place with her. A fever she got from a small (and truly small) scratch that wasn't healing properly and was now infected. A scratch she got when she fell during an easy and simple recognition mission to a place where they would find the guys that would lead them to the people that knew a person that once saw a man that supposedly knew where the white ghost had had an lurk a year ago. Something as easy… well, much easier than walking around the LA busy streets on Christmas season… and she fell. Maybe it happened because it was a different setting, maybe it happened because she was working alone; there were others there, but she was alone. Or maybe she wasn't paying attention, maybe she was making things in the wrong way. Maybe, and after all, she was weak… or she was weaker. She was weaker right now, because of him. Maybe, Deeks was really Wonder Woman's kryptonite.

But then, he wasn't there.

He wasn't there and that was probably the reason why she fell and the reason why she was toppling with this fever. He wasn't there and that was certainly the reason why that scratch wasn't healing. He wasn't there and that was surely the reason why she was so cold. Surely. So, maybe he wasn't her kryptonite, her weakness. Certainly, he was her strength. And his absence was the real and awful kryptonite.

She fell asleep and the scratch started healing, slowly, bur certainly healing. She fell asleep and the fever went down, slowly, but firmly. She fell asleep thinking that in 12 days it would be Christmas and she dreamed.

END OF CHAPTER ONE

TBC


	2. Chapter 2 warm

First, I do not own NCIS:LA or its characters. I also do not own The Karate Kid, Laurel and Hardy or Fraggle Rock.

Second, I'm truly grateful to those who took the time to read and review. You're very kind.

Thirdly … third, I'm not really confident about this story, but please enjoy (if possible), _**It isn't cold. Unbutton. - Chapter two: warm**_.

Merry Christmas.

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It isn't cold. Unbutton.

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Chapter one: cold _**Chapter two: warm**_ Chapter three: hot

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12 days for Christmas Eve and she was still stuck in the middle of the most secretive assignment she had ever had. And, in only-God-Hetty-and-Granger-Knows land, the distance to her family was so more unbearable than ever before. She was actually used to be alone. _Alone_ – that's a word which meaning she deeply understands, she lost so many people and she's not used to that just because one can never get used to something like that. But she won't ever lose the memories of her loneliness. Losing a father by death, losing a mother by unrecognizable disappointment (or an awful, agonizing and unfair mistake), losing friends by the constant moving around (all her life), losing partners by criminal hands (or hers – cause she's not really Wonder Woman), losing a love and a planned future by the hands of a war… she's used to lose as much as she's used to keep, cause she's awfully used to keep the memories… the ghosts. And in this assignment she kept remembering her loneliness, particularly, the loneliness of a teen Kensi in the crowded streets of a busy street… alone, unprotected, untrained – though fierce – at the hands of the city shadows…

In this assignment, without her family and surrounded by people who don't really want her there, she mostly remembered those days. Suddenly, she understood that she used to be more accustomed with loneliness than she is in that precise time of her life and that she used to underline the disappearance of Jack as one of the strongest features of her solitude, but his absence seemed – at that moment – so bearable when compared to others. Her feelings towards his disappearance changed in a surprising way, so surprising that she hadn't detected it until this secret mission. Suddenly, and although she didn't like the idea of him suffering, his absence seemed a positive fact. Something good… maybe the good thing about the bad things (or awful things) in our lives is the opportunity to watch them, with our future eyes, as what they really are: a step on our lives' ladder, a way to be better, a way to get to a better place. And she felt indeed in a better place; she was indeed planning a better future: she was planning – in the low frequencies of her private thoughts – a future with more humor and less solemnity, a future with more sun and salt and bright smiles and less table dinners and theatres, a future with more Kens, Fern, princess and less Kensi. She felt a little bit ashamed and even guilty, though she couldn't explain it, because she was glad, she was deeply glad that he had once left on a Christmas morning.

And in that day, missing 12 days for Christmas Eve, and finally winning the battle with that annoying fever, she was dreaming about her family – her "grown-up life family": Deeks and the others. It was such a vivid dream that she almost felt warm, really warm. In that dream she saw them watching a group of foreign attractive guys. There was a new guy with _her_ team, but she thought he wasn't funny and he was definitely pretentious.

And the foreign guys had a box.

These guys had a box – which was probably full of drugs, guns, intel or worst, maybe faux people passports – and her team, the fantastic five (once six – she was missing and this new guy didn't really count) would most certainly save its contents and even keep the box, so they could kick these now-not-so-attractive-guys' asses inside the said box. They would wrap the box and Nell would put a nice bow so they could send it to prison's Saint Nick.

They would save the world again.

And they would do it by recovering the box, opening it, finding out and dealing with its contents. (She didn't really wanna dream about the pang in her heart when he decided not to open some other box, not dealing with the answers of opening it, not talking about its contents, not facing real meanings…).

In her dream, Sam catches the two guys leaving the building they've been staying by the backstreet door and immediately points in their direction, so Callen can see what's happening too. The two men have a brown box with them and are walking fast and nervously. Callen thinks they resemble Laurel and Hardy, but Sam can't see why, since none of them wears a moustache, bows or hats. Even so, Callen tells him he'll catch Laurel and Sam can catch Hardy.

And they do it, they do it easily, while Deeks and the new guy listen to everything through the coms. When they're preparing to back up Sam and Callen, Deeks catches the figure of a person through the window of the building they've been making surveillance to.

And then, he shows, once again, his uncontrolled nature and runs to the building without warning anyone. And this new guy, this pretentious, incompetent and stupid new guy can't have his back… Really, who chose this guy? Deeks gets in the building and he's immediately surprised with a vision he wasn't expecting: several people were locked in a room with a tiny window and yelling pleading "helps" and warnings of "bomb"…

Fraggle Rock…

The door is locked and is heavy, but then he figures a way of opening it – c'mon, he grew up with MacGyver. He ties the end of a rope to the doorknob and the other end to a truck parked outside, going through the window he used to enter the building in the first place. Then, it's easy, he just needs to hotwire the truck… Mmmh! Mmmh! She dreams that he would be glad she had explained to him how to do it, during one of the moments he insists on calling "kensi adorable humblebrag hour".

Well, he opens the door and those people ran free and that's when the bomb squad gets there, because the fantastic twins were listening and got them there.

She smiles in her dream, because she's glad her family is fine, but really, really fine.

She woke up and her fever was gone and her scratch was much better and her willpower was bigger than ever… she was feeling Wonder Womanly. She counted the days and noticed she had 11 days for Christmas Eve and set up her alarm clock. She would do it on time, whether she would use cars, boats, planes or motorcycles (s_he remembers_), or even if she would have ups and downs, tunnels and mountains to cross.

She felt warmer and stronger and decided they deserved that. She felt she's not always been on the good people list, she knew she's done… she's done so many things, things that could make her soul dark. But she also knew she's done some good things, and helped some people, and gave peace and respect to some others… so, that must count for something. Maybe her soul has also a lighter part. She thought her mismatched soul and his big heart deserve… it.

At the end of the day, Deeks goes home. The day seems to have gotten a little warmer. Maybe it was the feeling of having saved the world again. C'mon saving the world again could probably make Sam's work day – this day, Christmas eve – a little forgivable. And during his trip home he thinks about her and the day is definitely warmer, that's for sure.

He thought about her during all day – this annoyingly different, nauseatingly odd, awful day – cause he's always thinking about her. But he was not really thinking about her, about them. He thought what a good partner she was, how he could communicate easily with her (… on the field…), how she would probably kick these guys in the groin when they had first told them they were tourists, cause she would have had a hunch they weren't. He thought about her this way, but he didn't daydream about her kicking asses over there, in only-God-Hetty-and-Granger-Knows land and coming back. And now, slowly going home through the coastline, noticing the sunset in the horizon he feels a little warmer. He feels surprisingly warmer even if it's Christmas Eve and the day's ending and she isn't there.

But he knows she's tough and trained and fierce and so he daydreams about her coming back; he daydreams about her and about her solving the mystery and coming home. Oooh, if only that was real.

But maybe it could be real. Well, he never thought they could really be a thing, and she ended up on the place he's dreamed about her so many times.

How could he ever had thought that something so unquestionably beautiful could be born from a conversation in which he says that he doesn't want to be with her right then and there and sees her fighting the unshed tears in her mismatched soul, after a moment of distressing confusion at his unreasonable words. And from that glimpse of profound honesty from his lips – an honesty he didn't really controlled – a group of the most "competent criminal words" ran away from his heart (oh his poor heart – here he takes a loose moment to self-pity, and acknowledge the profound scars and wrinkles of his centenary heart – cause the pains in his life should have had thousands of years to start, be endured and gotten over, and not only the small amount of years he's lived). And those were words that he let ran away probably due to his deep dependency on that woman, a woman who swapped his world and changed his priorities from surviving to living; words that he let ran away probably due to this dependency – one that made him simultaneously stronger and weaker – much more than to any distance he had put (or the universe in charge had put) between him and total sanity. Those words crossed his lips – his lips, the ones that could be known for having their own free will, obeying to no master, but also the ones that she's been dying to meet again, cause once… twice… was less than a quarter of a drop of water in Sahara. And when those words passed his lips and he saw her eyes and her soul, he knew that there was no coming back. "_I don't want to be here with you right now"_ were the first words he wanted to say – were the truth – but the last he wanted her to hear. And so he was forced to say more. And he did – he wanted to be at his place with her right then. And all these glimpses of honesty led to a blessed morning, one in which he woke up with his arms full and his heart a little stronger – much stronger – and one in which he looked into her mismatched soul and saw that the words that ran away were no criminals.

He had made a Christmas tree. He always did. He told himself, and Monty, by the way, that he could take pictures to show her, but he really knew that deep down, he was wishing he could show her. Arriving home, he carefully maneuvered the Bonsai so he could open the door.

There. In the floor, next to his Christmas tree and a snoring Monty, was a box, an opened box. It was one of Kensi's present boxes. He had bought several presents for her, and he noticed that all the others weren't as neatly wrapped as before, but who cared? The one box that wasn't re-wrapped had a blanket, and said blanket was now covering someone on his couch.

END OF CHAPTER TWO

TBC


	3. Chapter 3 hot

First, Happy New Year.

Second, thank you all for keep on reading.

Thirdly... third, please enjoy the last chapter of _**"It isn't cold. Unbutton."**_ - _**"Hot."**_

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It isn't cold. Unbutton.

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Chapter one: cold Chapter two: warm _**Chapter three: hot**_

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It isn't an early Christmas morning, not at all. In fact, it's almost lunch time and the rays of sunshine easily conquer the space in his living room, illuminating the floor, the small coffee table, a sleeping mutt, a Christmas tree and the two people sleeping on the couch. She starts to wake up and her first step into consciousness is the realization that she isn't cold. She doesn't feel as cold as she felt every day in the mysterious place of her previous secret assignment and she doesn't feel as cold as she felt the past Christmas mornings.

In fact, she feels warm. She feels warm and safe and loved and cared and _not alone_. She's waking up on a Christmas morning just to realize that he's there. He's there and he's peacefully sleeping. Peacefully – no trace of disturbance or any kind of PTSD. His chest is pressed against her back, his arm is around her waist, she's basically trapped between him and the back of the couch, and they're both underneath the blanket he had bought for her – it is pink and has cat faces all over it.

The lights on the Christmas tree are still twinkling, Monty is still sleeping and Deeks is breathing in and out slowly, eyes closed and warm body. When she tries to move, he just tightens his arm around her as if afraid she would disappear. She chuckles and slowly he starts to wake up.

Opening his eyes, he looks at her and thinks about the previous night…

_Getting home and finding her sleeping on his couch; how he looked at her with bewilderment, devotion, adoration and love; how his heart jumped and twirled and missed a beat and then… well, simply exploded… She was curling on his couch, she seemed to be cold and he couldn't avoid walking fast to her, but slowly getting down on his knees, caressing her hair and softly whispering her name, just to find out she was awake and pretending to be sleeping, giving him the chance – yeah, right – to make the first step. But he didn't care, he would be patient. This was so amazingly awesome that he couldn't care. He smiled and joked._

"_Good Christmas Eve, sleepy head."_

_She looked at him and instead of answering, she let a tear slip and smiled modestly._

"_Are you cold?"_

_He had to ask. She simply nodded. He took his shoes off and his jacket too, and slipped under the blanket, next to her, filling his arms with her body. It felt so natural for him, as if she had never left. However, she shacked for a while and he wasn't sure if that was due to the weather, to the same feeling of disbelief he had or – and he hoped not – to some kind of awkwardness between them. But then, she relaxed and was beaten by exhaustion and felt asleep._

Now, in the big hours of this Christmas day, he sees no trace of exhaustion in her features and, when she completely turns to him, he sees a genuine smile (and a beautiful genuine smile). He looks at her noting her brown messy hair, her wide eyes, her soft cheeks, the drawing of her lips, her tanned skin and, before he can do something very embarrassing, he does something embarrassing. Fixing his eyes on her cleavage, he asks a question.

"Are you still cold?"

"Deeks, it isn't cold. Unbutton."

She tells him coyly. And he thinks about how different these words are from the ones said by… Gosh! How different is this moment from the other one. He really had needed to button up because he really had felt cold, despite the LA weather… but now, hearing her say these words, he really doesn't feel cold, not even warm, he feels hot.

Hot and confused and scared and excited and…

"W- What?"

"Your shirts."

Yep, he notices, her shirt is actually his. It's the one she took before leaving.

He gets one of her buttons undone, but his fingers are shaking dramatically. Her chest rises up and down and that's so undeniably sexy that he can't avoid the heat that goes through his entire body. When he tries to undo one more button, she decides to help him out and starts to unbutton his shirt (the one he's really wearing), focusing on her task and avoiding his gaze. This gives him a much needed urge of courage and he's able to finally unbutton the shirt she's wearing completely.

She takes his shirt off with no hesitation and caresses his arms along the way. Then, she waits. And this time, she waits fairly, she's done her part and now it's up to him. He already knows this is how she acts; it was exactly the same the last time (the first time). He remembers.

_He kissed and touched and moved slowly and cautiously, every time looking at her, at her expressions, at her movements, at her reactions… She, on the other hand, did everything in quick soft movements: took of his sweater and stopped, waiting for him to take her grey shirt off (which wasn't easy, considering its small buttons and his trembling fingers; ooh, how he hated that shirt), she helped him to get rid of his pants and waited for his help to take hers off, she kissed his neck after he had kissed hers first, she kissed his chest after he unclasped her bra… With every intimacy step they gave, his awe increased, but also his concerning. She was looking at his body, she even looked at his lips, but avoided his eyes. He softly touched her chin and lifted her head to look into her eyes. She closed them at first, but then, breathed in deeply and opened her mismatched eyes to look into his._

"_Should we talk?", he asked._

"_No." She answered and smiled._

_After that moment, she seemed to relax and did not avoid his gaze, instead, looked him deep in the eyes, and with smiles and small nods communicated her agreement, her desire and maybe, just maybe, her love._

Now, she's waiting again and he decides he'll change this game and push her buttons – the figurative ones. Though he unbuttoned her shirt, the two front panels were still covering her, with just a small path of skin showing in the center, and he starts to softly touch her with his fingertips, starting on the front base of her neck and slowly – slowly, painfully slowly – going down. He passes her breasts and she trembles, but he still goes down, softly.

"You know, you didn't tell anything about your vacations oversea?"

"You're infuriating."

"What?! No, I'm patient, I let you sleep and now, now I just want to talk."

"Of course you want to talk. We can talk."

She says this while taking of her… his shirt, the one she's been wearing. And, as he already knew, there is no other piece of fabric covering her upper body.

"Maybe we can talk later."

"I thought so."

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A couple of hours later, she gets to the kitchen and he's making pancakes. She remembers the first time she saw him cook pancakes.

_He was trying to flip the pancake for the third time and, for the third time, it wasn't working. She laughed and suggested his so famous cooking abilities were not so worthy. He said he would get it at the fourth try, and that he didn't know what was happening and that he should be nervous, and he corrected himself, explaining his nervousness came from the size of the house and from the money of Justin and Melissa's bank accounts and then, trying to change the subject, he told her that his fourth pancake would be totally worth it and that Cook Deeks would prove himself, reforming from the ashes of the first pancakes, like the legend of the Phoenix._

_She had to laugh – that strange, unusual, adorable laugh, which he got to keep in his memory for whenever it's needed – and had to joke about that._

"_You, a Phoenix?"_

"_Yep, a Phoenix."_

"_Well, I guess that if we all had to be an animal, in some weird Sci-Fi parallel reality, you could be a Phoenix."_

"_Yeah, princess? What's the attempt of joke you're trying to get at?"_

"_There isn't. It's a compliment. Take it."_

"_Ooook." (Still not believing)_

"_Yeah. You could be a Phoenix. You could definitely be a bird, with its long fluffy colored feathers and its tiny brain and tiny…"_

"_Ooooh! Easy tiger… Well, I'll give you this one … for the effort."_

"_Ok. Touché."_

"_That's not how you… Oh. Never mind. Here you have, the fourth/ first pancake, for whatever it's worth."_

She gets next to him, as silently as she can, crossing the small distance between the threshold of his kitchen and the spot where he is working, wrapped in nothing more than the blanket he had given her. He feels her presence and turns to her smiling, he then offers her a pancake.

Looking deeply into his eyes, she gives him a few words in return.

"It's worth everything."

"What?"

"The pancakes and… all the rest… is worth everything."

He puts the plate on the table, next to the bonsai, and hugs her, so strongly. His left hand is on her back, half of it directly on her skin, the other half on the blanket; his right hand is in her hair and his head is in her neck, inhaling her scent and kissing her. She thinks she might have triggered some bad memories, thoughts she wants to ever keep away from him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to make you remember…"

"Ssssh, princess. You didn't. I'm not. I'm happy."

And he truly seems happy. She relaxes and thinks about how comfortable she feels in his arms and remembers the effects his hands have on her. She always had favorite parts of his body, even when he was Jason Wyler, and those favorite parts just increased in number through the years. Maybe his baby blues or his fluffy hair had gotten her smitten or stuck or whatever, though she had never admitted it. But later on, his tanned skin, his incredible smile, his sexy posture, his strong arms… made the butterflies spin in her stomach (and kept her awake on some cold nights and on some warm and hot nights too). But, since the French guys and the lasers convo, his hands started to play an important role in her dreams.

Seeming to read her – as always – he starts to caress her back up and down and makes small round movements on her head. He's a fast learner and already knows many of her reactions and how to provoke them. And his hands do what they can do best, they travel to her waist and then stop on her hips. His gaze is on her face, searching her eyes and waiting. Waiting for her to look him back. He's always waiting, she thinks.

She looks him in the eyes and kisses him and now she initiates all the movements and takes her time, whispering words of agreement, desire and certainly, love.

The pancakes are just forgotten.

* * *

They're breathing heavily and after a few moments, he decides to ramble, this time on purpose. His voice is like a lullaby and she feels herself falling asleep, as if all the heavy memories were gone forever. He's rambling about all the cities and countries they could visit and his sweet firm voice is so freeing that she tells him, sleepily but confidently, that she'll follow him everywhere, whenever he says and the way he chooses – plane, bus, rocket ship, or even pick-up truck.

He chuckles.

She's actually laying spread on the bed – or mostly on top of him – and breathing in his scent; then, she lays her head on his chest, listening to the melody of his heart. Kissing his skin and embracing him tighter, she looks up into his eyes and sweetly speaks to him.

"Your heart is so beautiful."

He feels that those words are the ones he's been expecting all his life, that this moment with her is the most meaningful (and redeeming) in his entire life – past, present and future considered, that he has been given the best Christmas present ever… and the bliss, the bliss he's feeling can't be compared to any other… even without the fantastic Christmas dinner, or their beloved friends and family, or carols and lots of presents and decorations or any other stuff he's been planning, since ever. It seems that the universe took charge of his life' plans and this time… this time the universe nailed it. He was given all the happiness in the world, the one that pains to feel.

And his next words are just perfect. She remembers that she felt self-conscious and unsure a few hours ago, while listening to him whispering words of love and lust, awe and adoration; calling adjectives such as perfect, gorgeous, stunning into their moment; naming her princess, babe or (playfully) goddess; passionately touching her body (with hands and lips and teeth) and underlining the softness of her skin or firmly locking his fingers in her hair and pointing its smoothness. She almost thought he could be joking or using words "on repeat", routinely – which would be worst, she couldn't decide. She almost believed that train of thoughts, because she was aware of some simple facts, such as the lack of good shampoos or soaps back there, or the terrible weather and the few hours of sleep per night, or the rough daily tasks and the injuries and bruises she got. She was certainly aware of all that and, for that reason, she almost thought he was joking… Almost – because the moment she looked into his eyes she was sure every word was true and each one was directed at her and only her.

But now, listening to his compliment to her soul is exponentially better than any compliment to her body, in a way she had never imagined it could be.

"So is your soul", was his answer.

THE END


End file.
